


in which zoey drunkenly calls her best friend (and other embarrassing choices from last night)

by typingcat



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: Bachelorette Party, Drunk Texting, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Fluff, Girls' Night Out, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23369263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typingcat/pseuds/typingcat
Summary: Zoey’s first bachelorette party leads to a phone call she won't remember.
Relationships: Zoey Clarke/Max Richman
Comments: 87
Kudos: 214





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes a slight diversion from the 1x06 in that Jessica never actually found out about Zoey’s crush on Simon, Autumn and Max break up amicably, Max hasn’t confessed his love to Zoey, and she hasn’t confessed her powers to him.
> 
> Also, it's been years since I've last written fanfiction, and shit. This was a laborious 3+ hours but man, I had ideas, I wanted to get them out on paper (or online).

Zoey met Jessica five months and thirteen days ago. Their relationship was friendly and polite, yet superficial. So it came entirely as a shock when an invitation for Jessica’s bachelorette party made its way into her personal email inbox.

_You’re invited to Jessica’s Last Fling Before the Ring_ , the message read in a cursive print Zoey recognized from endless Pinterest and Instagram posts. In a simpler font, it detailed all the information surrounding the upcoming affair: date and time (three months away, June), the proposed itinerary, a tentative hotel reservation, the Venmo information of Jessica’s maid of honor (Zoey assumed, anyway), a suggested packing list, and a link to a Google Form containing a survey of further prompts: please provide your cell phone number, your t-shirt size, and if you have any dietary restrictions.

Zoey had to hand it to her — whomever the maid of honor was, she truly was diligent.

Her gut was to send a polite “thanks, but no thanks” response. _Thanks, but I have to be there for my family. Thanks, but I have hours of coding to to for The Chirp’s newest update. Thanks, but I’m still figuring out how to deal with the endless amount of singing I hear in my head every damn day._

But before she could even hit the reply button, ringing sounded from her pocket. Seeing Mo’s name display on the caller ID, Zoey took the call.

“Hello?” She asked, curious.

“Zoey,” Mo responded sternly, “do _not_ even think about backing out of this event.”

“What event?” Zoey furrowed her brows in confusion.

“Don’t play dumb. I know you’re sitting on your couch pretending to code while you’re really looking up videos of kittens or whatever it is you do on Sunday nights. So I’m assuming you got the email.”

Zoey’s face deadpanned. “Damn. I thought I was the one who was supposed to be the mind reader,” she quipped, “but yes, I saw it. You were invited to Jessica’s bachelorette party, too?"

“I’m just as surprised as you are," Mo chuckled, "I think I exchanged all of ten words with Jessica the night of the engagement party. But fabulous senses fabulous, after all, so maybe it shouldn’t come as a complete shock. Not the point. You. Are. _Going_.”

“Mo,” Zoey began, “I’m not sure I feel entirely comfortable with —“

“I’ve already RSVP’d for the both of us,” he interrupted.

“Mo!” Zoey stood up from her place on the couch, “I have to check my schedule. I need to check in with my mom to make sure that —“

“ _Zozo Rabbit_ ,” — Zoey internally cringed at the pet name —“literally no excuse you give is going to convince me it’s okay for you to sit this one out. You have been slowly burning out and running out of steam. It’s one weekend in LA. You _know_ your mother is going to insist on you attending. She’ll say she can hold down the fort with your father, and if there’s any true emergency, you and I will fly straight home, no questions asked.”

Zoey opened her mouth to contest Mo’s points, but found herself coming up short. He was correct on multiple fronts; between her personal and professional life, Zoey was feeling pretty run down. She loved her family and would never blame them for her stress, but losing a parent was fucking hard. And so was unexpectedly hearing everyone's thoughts in the form of Top 40 hits in the middle of the day. And navigating her feelings about Max. Max, Zoey’s best friend. Max, Zoey’s best friend who was secretly in love with her. Max, Zoey’s best friend who she _might_ have feelings for, but she wouldn’t — couldn’t — admit that to him, because even the potential of losing Max would be a dire blow to her already unsteady and unstable present. 

The mental list compiled within Zoey’s brain like a stack of books. Blowing off a little steam with her friends — or her friend, really, considering Zoey had almost no clue who comprised Jessica’s bridal party — could be a sweet escape from the pressures of real life.

“Okay,” the redhead agreed before she realized the confirmation come out of her mouth, “I’m in.”

* * *

Nearly 90 days later, Zoey found herself drinking Bellinis on Rodeo Drive with Mo, Jessica, and her posse. Their plates were filled with avocado spread on rye, poached eggs, and French toast. Drinks were poured into narrow-stemmed glasses as chatter filled the patio of an upscale Beverly Hills restaurant. Apparently, Jessica’s MOH was a wealthy socialite from Belgravia; minus the airfare, nearly all expenses were paid for on a sleek black credit card. Occasionally, a friendly passerby would ogle Jessica’s ring and comment on the group’s matching shirts — _ENGAGED AF_ was sprawled across dusty pink t-shirts in sparkling gold letters, with the only exception of Jessica in dressed in white. Zoey continued her drink, the peach fizz tingling her lips with each sip. She inserted herself in conversation when called upon — “ _Zoey! Tell everyone that story of Simon at the office last week, my god, that was an absolute riot!_ ’ — but otherwise, kept to herself and Mo.

And her phone.

Zoey refreshed her page on Instagram, spotting a new post in Autumn’s story feed. She bit her lip. She knew she _shouldn’t_ — she and Max were over, why was Zoey still even _following_ Autumn?

Temptation bested her, it seemed, when Zoey tapped on Autumn’s profile picture, revealing a selfie of Autumn and Max, walking outside during an uncharacteristically sunny day in northern California.

“You _do_ realize they’ve broken up,” a voice broke Zoey’s gaze from her phone screen. She looked up at Mo, who was sipping his own Bellini innocently. When Zoey didn’t reply, he added, “as in, no longer together. As in, you can make your move.”

Zoey scoffed incredulously. “Make my move?” She laughed, “there is no move to be made, ergo, I am not making any moves. Max and I are just —“

“ _Friends_ ,” Mo finished exhaustedly, “I know. I’ve heard that one, two, or ten times. Zoey, you are not fooling _anyone_. Especially not me. I see the way you two look at each other. You’re like the heart eyes emoji on LSD.”

“We are _not_ like —“

“Just text him.” Mo refused to dignify Zoey’s arguing any further. “You said he had a rough week at work. When we get back to the hotel later, just check in. It’s what a _friend_ would do, after all.”

It seemed routine when Zoey realized Mo was right, she _realized Mo was right_ , and let him win. She said no more, just finished the glass of peachy drink — what, was this Bellini number three? Four?

“I’m going to the ladies room,” Zoey excused herself from the table, navigating the restaurant patio to its interior. When she reached the restroom — good god, it was almost as big as Zoey’s entire living room — she had a seat on one of the neatly upholstered chairs and swiped open her phone.

**Hi.**

Backspace backspace backspace.

**Hey, how’s it going?** ****

Backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace.

**Zoey Clarke (12:36 PM)  
Hey, I know this week was pretty rough for you. Just checking in to make sure you’re doing okay. Enjoy the weekend, you earned it. :)**

* * *

The group’s last night in Los Angeles was, Zoey assumed, the textbook definition of “go big or go home.” They had made reservations at an upscale Mexican restaurant for dinner and drinks, then a show at a male strip club, followed by a final round of drinks and dancing at a nearby bar. Zoey was coerced into wearing a spare dress brought by one of the other women — “goodness gracious," Jessica had said, “we’re celebrating my last weekend as a free woman, not midnight mass on Christmas Eve” — so Zoey had traded in her tasteful red dress with a high neckline for a shorter, blacker number with a tight bodice and strappy back.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Mo eyed Zoey in her dress, though Zoey felt it paled in comparison to Mo’s usual bold evening-wear, “where has this been hiding all this time?” He pointed a finger up and down, vaguely tracing the outline of Zoey’s frame. 

“Shut _up_ ,” Zoey pouted, cheeks blazing as she snatched her purse from the hotel bed. “I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything with this much…compression before.”

“It’s a one-time thing. Think of it this way. In twelve hours, you’ll be back in your collared shirt layered under _another_ shirt,” he teased, following Zoey out of their room.

In one hour, Zoey was two drinks deep at the restaurant. In two hours, Zoey was soaking up her drinks with tortilla chips and guacamole, and in three hours, she was witnessing her first strip tease. Zoey’s cheeks were exceeding the brightness of her hair. Mo, Jessica, and her _I-Do Crew_ seemed completely unbothered — they were laughing, teasing, and flirting, laying out singles on the table before them. Zoey, on the other hand, was making her way towards the bar. She was _not_ drunk enough for this.

She ordered a round of shots for the table, and when they arrived, Zoey was pretty sure she downed what was hers _and_ Mo’s — but she needed the liquid courage. Maybe the strip club wasn't entirely her scene, but Zoey found herself _thoroughly_ enjoying herself at their final destination of the evening. The bunch had made its way to a venue with a huge dance floor and live cover band, playing all different types of music from 90's pop to today's hits. Zoey couldn't tell if she had imagined it — she was, at this point, thoroughly drunk — but she could have sworn Mo led Jessica and the bridal party in an explosive rendition of "Last Friday Night" by Katy Perry. Zoey's phone vibrated once. Twice. Or at least she thought it did. The dance number was distracting her from any external stimuli.

"You sang," Zoey said loudly into Mo's ear once the number had ended, "K-Katy Berry."

"It's _Perry_ , Little Zo Peep," Mo corrected kindly, "and I'm sure it was absolutely captivating.'

"it was! Jessica almost did a backflip, I was — my jaw? It met the _floor_."

Mo and Zoey saddled up towards the bar; Zoey was planning to order them glasses of water to hopefully balance out the night's drinking — before her phone vibrated for a third time.

"Wh-whaaat?" Zoey pulled the phone out from her purse, leaving Mo to order the water. The brightness made her squint as she made out the messages on her screen.

**Max Richman (11:48 PM)  
Hey hope you and Mo are having fun! I'm having solo movie night. I may or may not have finished the first Pitch Perfect movie.**

**Max Richman (11:48 PM)  
Listen I know you're out with everyone and I don't expect you to answer now, but I wanted to run something by you...Autumn asked if I wanted to get back together. **

**Max Richman (11:57 PM)  
Yeah that was stupid, can you forget I texted that to you? We'll talk when you get home, have a good night**

Against her better, sober instincts, Zoey flashed the screen towards Mo. “So they are _not_ just broken up!”

Mo studied the texts for a moment before responding. “Your reading comprehension suffers with your alcohol consumption, Zoey. He said Autumn _asked_ him to get back together. They are still, currently, very much broken up. And anyway, what does it matter? I thought you and Max were _just friends_.”

“We _are_.”

“Uh-huh. Who are you trying to prove? Because I can tell you it’s not working on me. The only person you’re trying to delude at this point is yourself, and that’s not doing any favors for you or Max. You should talk to him when we get home and just _tell him how you feel_.”

While intoxicated, Zoey apparently displayed selective listening. She could not wait until tomorrow. All she heard was “talk to him.” Talk to _Max_. Within a moment’s time, she was headed towards the door of the bar, calling loudly to Mo over her shoulder “I’ll be right back!”

_This is stupid_ , her mind warned her as she slid her finger over the phone screen to unlock it. _This is stupid, stupid, stupid. Do not call him, Zoey. Do. Not. Call. Him._ She punched in her passcode. The phone automatically opened to Max’s texts. She tapped on his name, pulling up his contact information.

_You have made it nearly thirty years without drunk-dialing anyone. Why start now, when you are SUPER CONFUSED about all of this?_ She tapped on the call icon, raising her phone to her ear. It rang once. Twice.

_Hang up now._

A third time. A fourth time.

_Hang up. HANG UP._

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Max Richman, leave a message with your name, and I’ll be sure to return your call,” a polite Max sounded from the other end of the line. Zoey felt her stomach twist into a set of knots. Even in that pre-recorded message, she could almost hear Max’s smile.

She didn’t bother waiting for a beep. “Ma-haaaaaaax,” she wandered down the block speaking slowly into the phone, as though she was buying time to articulate her thoughts. “Do you got the money? Because you’re rich…man.” Zoey paused, and even in her drunken state, she knew how awful the joke was, so she played into it. “I need a drum set. Come on, where’s my — ba, dum, _TISS!”_ Max couldn’t see Zoey play the one-handed imaginary drums on her end of the call.

“I just wanted to tell you I got your messages,” Zoey slurred, “and like, I want you to be happy, so if Autumn makes you happy…” she swung her hand into a fist, as if to say — and she did say, awkwardly, drunkenly, “go for it, dude.”

Zoey paused, lightly breathing as she turned a corner, leaning against the brick exterior of the bar. “But. _But._ I just wanna say, you deserve someone great. And Autumn is great. So if you want to try it again, and she wants to try it again…just _go for it_.”

This was turning into a drunk pep talk that Zoey hadn’t intended for and Max hadn’t asked for. She was spouting out the exact opposite of what she intended to share — okay, maybe not the _exact opposite_ , Autumn was a perfectly nice person and she _did_ deserve someone great. That someone could be Max, and if that was the case, Zoey would gracefully bow out and let them pursue happiness together. But she would kick herself if she didn’t shoot her shot.

“But. _But._ I also, just wanna say, that there’s…something that I think…I feel. For. You. And I…” she sighed heavily into the phone. “I wanted to tell you, but I was scared, I _am_ scared. I don’t want things to change and then we aren’t…Zoey and Max. Because you’re my best friend, Max, but…”

She released her stance against the brick, starting to make her way back towards the bar.

“I have to go, Mo is looking for me,” which may or may not have been true; Mo likely meandered back to the dance floor, sick of waiting for Zoey’s return, “but I wanted you to…uh, know, that that’s what…I’ve been thinking. And no matter what happens, there will always be a code written in the stars for our friendship.”

She ended the call, feeling a mixture of pride and horror as she ventured back inside of the bar. Her internal dialogue drunkenly critiqued her vernacular.

_Code..._ written in the stars _!?_ _What the hell was that?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey doesn't remember a thing from Saturday night, but Max sure does. And he's singing his way into the office to prove it. Since Zoey's still fighting the residual hangover just enough for things to not make sense, Max is going to have to put the pieces together for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovely feedback from the previous chapter. I originally intended for this to be a standalone, but I felt inspiration to continue writing. Then once I got writing, I realized I wanted to do this in three chapters — so there is one more coming. I love Max's character and wanted a chance to capture his voice. Here's hoping I do it justice.

Thirteen hours after the girls’ night out to end all girls’ nights out, Zoey found herself pale-faced as she walked through the restaurant doors at the Beverley Wilshire. It was the final day of Jessica’s “Last Fling Before the Ring,” and there was one more brunch on the agenda before the party prepared to fly back to San Francisco. She made her way to a round table where she met eyes with Jessica, who had engaged in conversation with the other people around her.

Zoey knew she’d overslept, and a tinge of pink graced her cheeks as she took the last seat at the table, next to Mo. “Good morning,” she said meekly, eyeing the women across from her. How did they manage to drink last night and _still_ wake up looking like Victoria’s Secret models? Jessica’s hair was big and freshly blown out and her eyelashes were perfectly curled, making her appear more awake. Even Mo had taken it upon himself, Zoey noticed, to apply a full face of makeup, along with a wavy blonde wig that she hadn’t recognized. Zoey suddenly felt underdressed in her cranberry jumpsuit and denim jacket. Her hair was pulled into a sloppy ponytail and she was fairly certain there were still remnants of black eyeliner smudged under her waterline.

Jessica didn’t seem the least bit bothered by Zoey’s perceived appearance; if anything she was overjoyed at her presence. “Zoey! I’m so glad you made it down here in one piece,” she exclaimed with a bright smile, “when Mo said he texted you and didn’t get an answer right away, I started to worry. I half readied myself to knock on the door to your room, but I figured you might need a little time.”

“Oh my god, I can’t even,” the woman sitting next to Jessica — over the past two days, Zoey learned her name was India — cut in before she had a chance to respond. Her posh accent matched Jessica’s. “I think I drank more last night than I have in the _entire year_. But it’s all in good fun, need to give my best girl a proper send-off.” India clinked her glass against the one in Jessica’s hand, which prompted the others around the table to do the same, adding in hoots and cheers of phrases like “yeah, girl!” and “to Jess!”

Zoey raised her water glass to engage in the impromptu toast. She was _not_ drinking at all today, or quite possibly, ever again. As the conversation shifted back towards Jessica and her bridal party, Mo glanced over at Zoey.

“You made it,” he said quietly, raising his mimosa glass to his lips.

“Barely,” Zoey replied, eyeing the orange beverage. “How in the _world_ are you still drinking?”

“I wasn’t that drunk last night,” Mo replied earnestly, “shortly before we left the strip club, I switched to club soda. You’re the one who kept pounding shot after shot, sweetie. I’m just glad you’re down here in one piece.”

Zoey thanked the waiter who filled her coffee cup at the table. “Again, barely,” she said through the smile before turning her attention towards Mo. “I haven’t even begun to process the events of last night. I can’t remember a thing once we got to the third bar.”

Mo’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Let me enlighten you, then,” he offered, and suddenly, Zoey become fearful of what the follow-up would be. Oh, lord, what did she do? Did she flip off a stranger? Make out with one?

“You tore up the dance floor for a good our or so. Said that we were all singing Katy _Berry_ ,” Mo teased, smiling slightly. Zoey’s cheeks flushed as she tried to place the memory. It was too fuzzy for her liking. “I vaguely remember that,” she replied.

“You also got some interesting texts from Max and reacted in…some type of way.” Mo eyed her again over the rim of his glass, waiting for her reaction.

“What?” Zoey sputtered on the word, coughing on her coffee.

“See for yourself,” Mo responded aloofly.

“My phone is dead,” Zoey explained, cursing herself internally. She was mortified, but feigned sobriety and content during the remainder of brunch. _Shit_. _What the hell did Max say? What, if anything, did I say back?_

* * *

Monday morning came sooner than Zoey’s liking. Her body still hadn’t completely shaken off the hangover, but she felt slightly more alert, which was a necessity if she was going to work on debugging The Chrp’s latest version update. Once her phone had charged the day before, she frantically pulled up Max’s texts, and sighed of…relief? Disappointment? Confusion? Zoey couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Autumn wanted to get back together with Max — who wouldn’t? He was a kind and funny computer nerd with the body of a Greek god and the voice of jazz crooner. Zoey judged herself silently for that string of thoughts, but she couldn’t help it if the image of a shirtless Max Richman was forever burned into her memory. She noticed Max sent her three texts in a row without a single reply. Zoey had imagined she had been too drunk that night to even remember how to work a smartphone. She tapped on the message box, sending one off quickly before boarding her flight:

**Zoey Clarke (3:42 PM)  
** I’m sorry I never replied to these! I was really drunk last night. I’ll tell all when we get home. As for Autumn, I think you need to do whatever you think is right for you both. See you tomorrow!

Zoey’s phone had been in airplane mode the rest of the evening, with her parents given strict orders to call Mo should anything arise with her father. She needed the quiet and rest to prepare for the day ahead.

SPRQ Point was quiet this Monday morning; benign chatter lingered between some of the brogrammers among the open floor. Zoey reveled in the silence — and in noticing Max had not yet arrived. For some reason she couldn’t quite discern, Zoey was not ready to see Max. She was happy to snatch up her laptop and quarantine herself in an isolation pod for the next six or so hours, only emerging when she had carbohydrate craving.

She was about to slide the spherical door closed on her orange pod before a synthesizer sounded through the office walls. A faint male voice echoed to compliment the tune and Zoey’s eyes grew wide. The day before, Zoey had somehow managed to go without hearing a single heart song. It seemed her luck ran out right before she desperately needed a quiet escape.

What was worse, Zoey recognized that faint male voice. She knew it all too well. It grew louder as the glass doors burst open — they could have been made of opaque steel and Zoey would still know It was Max bounding into the office. He began to sing smoothly, dancing coders following him into the room. He was holding a tray of coffee cups, talented enough to dance and avoid spilling any of their contents. Seeing Max begin to vocalize the first verse stirred something in the pit of Zoey’s stomach. She knew the song, admittedly, it was one of her favorites — _Sit Next to Me_ by Foster the People.

The dancers backed off, lingering in a vague circle surrounding the circumference of the two stars of the number. Max danced his way to Zoey’s desk, resting the coffee tray before approaching her isolation pod. He lifted its cover so that he could get a full view of her. He gently took her hands and lifted her out of her seat. The nervousness in her gaze didn’t seem to phase Max at all, though. He cooed a line that struck a chord with Zoey — _“feeling kinda tempted and I’m pouring out the truth_ — and circled her in a way that was both choreographically sound and sexy. It frightened her. She didn’t want to admit she was attracted to Max — she _couldn’t_ — so she would continue to lie to herself. For now.

Max reached the chorus, inviting Zoey to “sit next to him,” and for reasons Zoey didn’t understand, she _did_. She hesitantly took a seat in the swivel chair next to where Max stood, and he spun her around in it.

“ _I’ll take you high!_ ” Max sang to close the chorus, to which Zoey verbally replied, “please, don’t!”

He and the background coders continued to dance, snapping their fingers and moving their hips in ways Zoey wished she could (she was a novice on the dance floor). At one point, she witnessed them create a pyramid formation, with Max in the front, gaze locked on Zoey the entire time. The literal song and dance continued for a bit longer, until Max finished the performance and Zoey realized they were standing inches apart. She looked down, fully knowing Max’s gaze was on her. Her heart was beating fast under the thick fabric of her sweater.

She backed away, mouth slightly agape, mind completely blank. It was at that moment she realized Max was offering her a puzzled gaze.

“Zoey, you good?” Max asked cautiously, and it was that moment Zoey realized the number was over and she was ripped back into reality.

Zoey paused for a minute before responding. “Y-yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re looking at me like you’ve just seen Capser the Friendly Ghost. To be fair, you _are_ whiter than I am.”

She laughed awkwardly at the joke, hands clammy. He extended a paper cup of coffee her way. “Figured you would need this after your wild weekend,” he offered. Zoey accepted the beverage and placed the lid to her lips, only before realizing the stamp on the cup’s sleeve. _Golden Gate Grind_.

“So you and Autumn,” Zoey surmised, glancing towards Max uncomfortably, “you are —”

“Not together,” Max interrupted, “actually, I stopped by this morning to tell her us trying again is a bad idea. But more importantly, it’s not what I want.”

_Yeah, no shit_ , Zoey’s inner dialogue was far more feisty than the awkward smiles and chuckles she presented. “Well…that’s good, for you to realize what you want,” she responded slowly. Crap. Was that going to lead him on in at all?

“For sure. But hey, that’s the least of the weekend’s topics of interest, right? Your weekend looked pretty crazy. Mo sent me some pictures.”

Zoey’s eyes widened as she averted Max’s gaze. She forcibly swallowed her coffee, leaving a residual soreness at the back of her throat. “No way,” she croaked, extending out her free hand. “Let me see. Nothing that will warrant me getting fired from this place, right?”

“ _Pffffft_. Oh, yeah, no,” Max’s response bordered sarcastic as Zoey unlocked his phone — she was the only non-family member with whom she shared her phone passcode, and Max was a gentleman, so he shared his in return — “I mean…as long as they don’t get uploaded to the SPRQ Point photo albums and become preset options for our watch wallpaper.”

Zoey tuned Max out slightly as she scrolled through the text thread between he and Mo. A number of pictures were sent over a number of days. Pictures from the first brunch, with everyone in their matching shirts. Pictures from their first night out. Pictures from their second night out — the solo shot of Zoey Mo insisted he take, in which she donned a Little Black Dress, courtesy of India.

Mo had _sent_ that picture to Max!? Zoey was thoroughly embarrassed. She only wore less when she was headed to a public pool. “Oh, god.” Zoey paled as she returned Max’s phone.

Max caught a glimpse of the last photo and a slight curve played upon his lips. “Relax, they’re all great pictures. Listen, I’m sure you’ve got a ton of work to catch up on, and I’ve got to start running some tests on Joan’s latest project, but we’re still on for dinner and movie night tomorrow, right?” 

The question caught Zoey off guard and sounded almost like a date. Her stomach lurched in discomfort, but instead she feigned memory of the promise she’d made last week. “Yeah, totally!” She forced a smile Max didn’t seem to register.

“Great, catch you later, Zo,” Max smiled brightly, leaving Zoey in a swirl of confusion and heat and nerves.

But she totally, completely, wasn’t interested in her best friend. Not at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie night takes a turn when Zoey and Max spill the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't kill me, my muse for this story has suddenly taken off like a plane (jk, there are no flights departing nowadays) and i'm going to write one more final part. chapter 4 will be the lat one, lol. thank you again for all the awesome and kind feedback, i so appreciate it. you are all awesome people (and awesome writers! i love reading your stories).
> 
> also just as a funny fyi, my girlfriend really wants me to write some sexy shit for zoey and max in this story which for some reason i find hilarious, so i'm dedicating this story to her. thanks for supporting my nerdy tendencies, babe.

“I can’t make it to movie night tonight. I’m sick.” Mo feigned weakness into the camera of his smartphone. 

“Bull _shit_ ,” Zoey rolled her eyes, noticing the smirk expression that danced upon Mo’s features. “I heard you singing Mariah Carey literally 22 minutes ago. And like, _really_ heard you, not heart song heard you.”

“It might as well have been a heart song, because, Zoey, Eddie is making me feel _emotions_. Remind me to thank Jessica and Simon again for blessing my life with this sexy individual. Speaking of, now, you’ll get a little private time with Max this evening. What’s on the menu, Netflix and chill?”

Zoey prayed her own phone camera wouldn’t display the red hues she felt developing on her cheeks, but knowing a thing or two about technology, there was no such luck. “N-no,” she protested, “it’s the same as the original plan. Thai takeout and _Pitch Perfect 2_.”

“Huh, I would have thought you’d be over the whole musical comedy vibe right now, considering that’s become your entire life. Are you ever going to tell Max about your sixth sense, by the way?”

“Ha _ha_. Very funny. And no. I don’t know. There’s no way I can tell him without letting him know _I know_. About his feelings.”

“Yes, but, isn’t the natural response to add on that _you_ have been feeling the same way all along, and then you can duet some boring-ass Ed Sheeran song and —”

“Bye, Mo!” Zoey tapped the red button on her screen, ending the video call. She heard the low-pitched ringtone a few moments later, signaling Mo was not done with his pitch on the upcoming evening. A few taps at her door interrupted the one-way conversation, though, and Zoey had never been more thankful to have one nerve-wracking distraction interrupted by a second one.

“Max!” Zoey wasn’t sure why she sounded so shocked; they did have plans, after all.

“Sorry I’m a little early,” Max apologized, stepping into the apartment. “The food was ready sooner than I thought when I went to pick it up.”

“No worries, I’m glad you’re here,” Zoey offered a small, uncomfortable smile as she closed the door behind him. There was truth in that statement, sure, but Zoey couldn’t help but feel as though it sounded too loving or doting or needy. And definitely, _definitely_ , sending the wrong message.

“How’s your dad?” Max asked, sincerity in his expression. Movie night was originally scheduled for Tuesday, but was moved to Friday, seeing as Maggie needed some assistance at home with Mitch, and Howie had a prior commitment with his daughter. Between another doctor’s appointment on Wednesday and Max’s judo class on Thursday, they both agreed Friday would be better for their movie night, even though Zoey thought Friday evening felt automatically more date-like.

“He’s doing okay. Well, as well as he can, thanks for asking,” she replied kindly, knowing that when Max asked her questions like that, he meant them. If Zoey had bad news to report, Max wouldn’t mind if they shelved the movie for another occasion and spent the night allowing Zoey to spill her challenging, hard-to-process feelings.

Spill her _feelings_. The thought brought up what Mo had mentioned on FaceTime just moments earlier. But there were no feelings to spill if there were no feelings, right? That’s what Zoey attempted to convince herself, anyway.

* * *

An hour into movie night, Zoey and Max were satiated from pad Thai, curry puffs, and beer. They caught each other up on the events of the previous weekend, mostly due to Max’s prodding. It made Zoey a little uneasy how interested Max was in Zoey’s social life. “You’ve never been to a bachelorette party before,” he had explained, “it sounds to me like you did everything right. Got drunk with your friends, danced, had fun. Who says people can’t nail things on the first try?”

_Pitch Perfect_ 2 primarily served as background noise while the evening progressed. More than once, Zoey and Max interjected either trivia about the plot line or actors, or venturing on tangents that _somehow_ were related to the overall plot of the film, but by the end of the conversation, Zoey wasn’t sure how they got there. One thing was certain, though — Zoey was growing increasingly aware of the musical elephant in the room. Seeing Anna Kendrick and Rebel Wilson belt out into song every other scene made Zoeyfeel looming guilt for _not_ confiding in Max sooner. After all of the days Max swept in to save, after all the times he offered his shoulder on which Zoey to cry, perhaps tonight was the night.

She abruptly broke the silence with “I need to tell you something,” only realizing a second too late that Max voiced a similar thought; “there’s something I want to talk about.”

They chuckled at the awkward moment, turning their bodies to face one another more directly. “You go first,” Max nodded his head and smiled before picking up the remote and lowering the movie’s volume a bit. “Please, whatever you need to say…I’m yours.”

This was it, Zoey told herself, now or never. It was going to sound _insane_.

“Okay, so something’s happened this past year, something big. I haven’t been completely honest with you about…me. About who I am.”

“Zoey, are you coming out to me right now?” Max’s eyes widened.

“N-no,” Zoey stuttered, afraid if she sounded surprised, she’d sound homophobic, which she definitely wasn’t. “It’s not about my…sexuality, it’s about something I can…do.”

“Okay, what can you do?”

“You know when people are stressed, or excited, or depressed, or feeling something _really deep down_ inside? I can sense that. Through song.”

Max’s reaction remained unchanged, except for his jaw that dropped open slightly. His lack of response started sending Zoey into a panic. She bit down on her lip, tilting her head in the direction of the television screen. “This, over here? This is my life.”

“…I’m not following.” Max’s gaze remained steady on Zoey, but there was definite confusion blurred behind his eyes. “You’re saying this movie about people breaking into a cappella mashups is your life? I mean I like a good musical film as much as the next person, but there are way better —”

Zoey interrupted him, fully realizing the extent of how absurd all this sounded. “I mean, Max, something happened to me that makes it so that I can hear people sing almost _all the time_! They sing their _feelings_! But only I can hear it.”

Max again, had nothing to offer in response, except wide eyes and an uncomfortable smile. Zoey took this as an opportunity to change the subject. All she wanted to do was put her secret out there, and she did, and now it was safe to talk about literally _anything else_.

“What did you want to tell me?” She asked, doing her best to hide the discomfort in her tone, but failing terribly.

“I…uh, got a…voicemail from you the last weekend, when you were out for Jessica’s bachelorette party that I kinda wanted to talk to you about.” Max’s words sounded like an appropriate response to Zoey’s question, but his voice was anything but. He was a little shaky in his tone, definitely perplexed by Zoey’s confession.

“Wh-what?” Zoey gulped. She’d left Max a voicemail while she was in Los Angeles? She didn’t remember doing that at all. Instinctively, she snatched up her phone from its place on the couch, scrolling through her calls list. Max Richman’s name in bright red letters indicated that Zoey had indeed called Max at around midnight on Sunday morning. Her stomach dropped.

“What d-did I say?” Zoey felt her face grow hot almost as though somehow, Max’s truth was more life-altering than hers. She grew increasingly nervous as she watched Max exhale a deep breath.

“You said I deserved to be with someone great, I guess in reply to the texts I sent you that night. But you also said you had feelings for me.”

The statement hit Zoey like a gust of wind. She could have fallen backwards on the couch, completely stunned at her confession of which she had no recollection. It was in that moment Zoey realized there was no putting off what she kept attempting to put off, there was no sense in denying the truth she was never ready to admit. But that didn’t mean she was ready to talk about it.

“Okay,” Zoey said awkwardly after too long a pause.

“O _kay_?” Max echoed with more disbelief. “Wait, we have to back up. First, you drop a supernatural truth bomb on me that I _still have not figured out_ , and then you change the subject, and now you have nothing to say about the drunken voicemail you left me Sunday night?”

“I don't remember leaving you any voicemail! Because I was _drunk_!” Zoey’s voice raised slightly and Max flinched, but continued his line of questioning.

“What do you _mean_ , you can hear people sing their feelings, deep down?” 

She sighed, but supposed she owed him an answer. He provided one to her question about the voicemail, after all.

“I mean,” Zoey began, “When people are really upset about something, or maybe really happy, or really confused, or longing for something, I know because they burst out into song. _Literal_ song and dance. But it’s something only I can see.”

“…So you’re like…a musical superhero.” Max’s eyes shifted from side to side as he tried to put the pieces together. “You’re like…the musical crossover episode of _Supergirl_ and _The Flash_.”

“Sort of. It’s more like…it’s a performance, but only for me, and the rest of the outside world appears as it always does for everyone else. I hear these songs… _constantly_. And there’s no telling when they’re going to happen, they just do.”

“Who have you heard sing?” Zoey couldn’t believe the question coming out of Max’s mouth, and figured he himself probably couldn’t, either.

“Oh, loads of people. My parents…that’s actually really…heartwarming, to see my dad get up and sing for his family,” now, Zoey couldn’t believe the _response_ she was giving. It sounded absolutely insane. And it was even crazier Max was mostly _going along with it_. “I’ve heard Joan, Tobin, you, Mo, David —”

“Wait, hold on. You’ve heard _me_ sing?”

Shit. So Max wasn’t going to allow her to just casually drop in that line, was he? Her eyes averted his pressing gaze. “Yeah…I have. More than once, actually, if you can believe it.”

“Well I mean, I _can’t_ ,” Max admitted, “I can’t really believe any of what you’re telling me, can I? But only a clinically insane person would share this information with someone, and I mean, you’ve got your quirks, but you’re not insane.”

“That’s what you think,” Zoey muttered, more to herself than to Max.

“So what did I sing?” Max pressed on, clearly not letting this one go.

“…Uh, okay, well, when people sing to me, we call them _heart songs_ and —”

“ _We_? There’s a ‘we’ now? Who else knows about this?”

“Mo.”

“ _Mo knows_? No — no — we’re coming back to that later. What songs have I sung to you, Zoey?”

“…Love songs.” Zoey confided after a moment’s silence, “I don’t know all of them. But they’re songs about…having feelings for someone.”

Zoey’s heart could have stopped once the words were out and he didn’t reply right away. Max’s features hinted pleasure, confusion, and hurt, fusing in a combination that hurt her to observe. “Say something, please.”

“Let me see if I understand,” Max’s tone was unrecognizably harsher than usual, “you’re telling me that you’ve had these…powers, for almost a year, and you’ve _known_ how I’ve felt about you, all this time, and you never said a _thing_?”

She knew it was fair for him to react this way, yet it still hurt, so she fought fire with fire. “You kept that voicemail from me too, Max, I don’t remember calling you _at all_ and you never —” 

“It’s hardly the same thing!” Max stood up from his place on the couch, and Zoey matched his stance, as though to say she wasn’t backing down, yet she knew she didn’t have a dog in this fight. “I kept that voicemail from you for _one week_ because I was waiting for the right time to talk to you about it. It’s a little uncomfortable to tell someone at work, who’s technically your _boss_ , that she drunk dialed you and spilled out her heart. You kept this secret power from everyone — well, _almost_ everyone — and you _knew_ how I felt and —”

It was at this point Zoey realized Max’s voice had gotten a little sterner, a little louder, and she was almost glad he brought a curt halt to his argument.

“I should go,” Max avoided Zoey’s eyes as he picked up his jacket from the side of the couch, putting it on hastily. The hurt was obvious in Zoey’s expression as she helplessly made an attempt to stop him.

“Max — no, please, stay, we can —”

“See you, Zoey,” Max’s interruption was absent of friendliness, indicating he wasn’t going to see her anytime soon. He didn’t look at her when he turned the knob to her apartment. Zoey hoped the _smack_ that sounded the closing door was louder than Max originally intended, but she wasn’t placing any bets.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey reflects on her decision by connecting with Maggie and Mo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so much for 
> 
> a) reading my story and leaving such kind comments  
> b) putting up with my indecisive ass because i have one chapter to go and I KEEP ADDING IDEAS YES BUT THEY JUST KEEP COMING and it would be a sin to not get them out on word, truthfully. jk jk.
> 
> but seriously, i so appreciate your kind comments. i really hope i am doing these characters justice. chapter 5, i promise, is the last one. and if i lie to you again and start writing a chapter 6, you can call me out on it and tell me i'm the worst.
> 
> fyi and not to sound like a total influencer right now but i was imagining this dress for zoey for the wedding because i am taking this story way too seriously  
> https://www.lulus.com/products/love-poem-sage-green-lace-mini-dress/709582.html

**Zoey Clarke (10:12 AM)  
** **Good morning…I’m really sorry about the way last night ended. Can we please talk?** ****

**Zoey Clarke (10:37 AM)  
** **Through all of this, I never meant to hurt you. You have to know that.** ****

**Zoey Clarke (10:48 AM)  
** **I’m here when you’re ready to talk…and again I’m really sorry, Max.** ****

Each message Zoey sent within the hour brought on new streams of anxiety and obsessive thoughts over her decision to tell Max her secret. The previous evening not at _all_ the movie night she had planned, though truthfully, she had no clue how she expected the occasion to unfold. Maybe more disbelief and less hurt feelings. The conversation replayed in her memory on an endless loop. She could still hear the combination of shock and curiosity in Max’s voice when he asked her of the songs she heard him sing. She could visualize the hurt in expression when he attempted to put together the pieces of her story, and her heart dropped again and again every time she pictured him closing her apartment door without hesitation or a second glance.

Nearing half past eleven, Zoey resolved she was not hearing back from Max anytime soon. She grew tired of checking her phone screen over and over again, especially when she knew no reply would be waiting for her — her phone had neither chimed nor vibrated, aside from one push notification from her health app. _The weather outside is 68 degrees and partly sunny. Time to get moving!_

“Fat chance,” Zoey rolled her eyes and tossed her phone aside, rolling over on her side. The dread she felt for the day ahead was paralyzing. It reminded her of the days that followed the news of her father’s diagnosis. Reality sunk in not after a number of days, but weeks— Zoey realized she had no control over her father’s condition, she couldn’t stop the disease from breaking down Mitch Clarke into someone unrecognizable, she couldn’t manipulate time and prevent the event that led to progressive supranuclear palsy from developing in the first place; not only within her father, but in any human being. No individual, no family should ever have to endure the continuous, numbing pain that came with knowing the composition of said family would be forever changed, for the worse.

Similar feelings of fear and upset and and worry laid in bed next to Zoey that Saturday morning, encompassing her like thick, heavy clouds. She had no idea how Max was progressing through his weekend. Did he wake up and go for a run? Call his mom? Meet a friend for breakfast? Play _The Legend of Zelda_ until sunrise?

Was Max thinking about Zoey, in the same way she couldn’t possibly shake her thoughts of him?

Zoey’s ringtone jolted her from immobility. She scrambled to see the phone screen. It hadn’t been Max calling, but she answered the call with the urgency as though it was.

“Mom?” Zoey asked.

“Hi, sweetie,” Maggie’s kind voice sounded softly on the other end of the line.

“Is everything okay?” Zoey sat straight up out of bed, letting her feet hit the floor beneath her. Mitch had been living beyond the anticipated prognosis stated by his doctor, and at this point, Zoey felt any call from her mother was going to be The Call.

“Everything’s fine,” Maggie reassured her, though Zoey’s body was still in hyperdrive; at this point she was standing in front of her bathroom sink and she let running water wet her toothbrush. “I was just calling to check in about the wedding. I’m working on one last mock-up for the bouquets and wanted to get your opinion before I share them with Jessica. Plus, you could come over for lunch.”

Zoey’s mind needed to keep up with the keywords shared in Maggie’s offer. Her mental space had been full of Max and it was as though all other thoughts had been temporarily deleted from her schema. Wedding? Right — Simon and Jessica’s wedding. Jessica — the lovely bride, bachelorette party was last week, which partly brought Zoey into this entire mess.

“L-lunch?” Zoey questioned, the last of her missing mental puzzle pieces.

“Yes, lunch. It’s after twelve. What have you been up to all morning?”

“Sleeping. Nothing. Don’t worry, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

By the time Zoey arrived at her parents’ house — freshly showered, face moisturized — Maggie had already finished two bouquets. Jessica’s taste was conventional mixed with hints of modernity, so the collection included pink and peach roses, dotted with bits of baby’s breath.

“It looks beautiful,” Zoey offered, giving Maggie a kiss on the cheek as she entered the house.

“Thank you,” Maggie replied warmly, trimming a bit of misplaced leaves from the bouquet. “This would be the design for the bridal party. Jessica’s is already done, I have it set on the dining room table. She wanted something traditional, but different, so I offered lavender roses.” Zoey glanced into the next room, and sure enough, a round cluster of pale purple roses were pinned together, proudly displayed on Maggie’s table. 

“Can you believe the wedding is a week away, already?” Maggie added, finalizing the touches on her second sample. “Once Jessica gives me he green light, I can finally start making these little groups of flowers look like a real presentation.”

“They already look beautiful.” Zoey assured her, knowing full well her mother was far too modest when it came to her work.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Maggie smiled and laid her scissors down, moving towards the refrigerator. “I know this goes without saying, but your father asked if you wouldn’t mind coming by before you head out for the night next Saturday. I told him I would ask you, just to be sure, but I sort of assumed that was your plan all along.”

“Of course,” Zoey confirmed softly, the thought beginning to bring tears to her eyes. This was likely the last opportunity Mitch would have to see Zoey dressed up for a big event. She knew how much it broke his heart to rewatch David and Emily’s wedding video, and it hurt to know the parties would go on, and world would keep turning — without him.

“Don’t cry,” Maggie’s voice echoed Zoey’s softness as she pulled her daughter into an embrace. “If you start crying, then I’ll start crying, and between you and I, I’m a little cried out this week. I think my blood pressure is actually dropping because I’ve lost so much salt from my tears.”

Zoey choked back a sob-laugh, wiping the moisture from her eyes as she pulled back from the hug. 

“Tell me about your dress,” Maggie sniffled a bit, changing the subject. “Are you and Max going to match, like you’re going to the prom?”

“It’s lace, and it’s green, and…” Zoey sighed, “I don’t know that Max is going to be accompanying me, after all.” Though the two had received separate invitations to the wedding, they had agreed to go together, a _long_ time ago, long before Zoey had any inkling of her more-than-friends feelings for Max.

“Oh, why’s that?” Maggie poured two glasses of water and took a seat at the kitchen island, motioning for Zoey to join her.

“I…it’s a long story.”

“We have all afternoon.”

“It’s…” Zoey glanced down at her lap, then back at her mother, who was waiting expectedly with a compassionate gaze. Zoey rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly from side to side as she added, “I kind of drunk-dialed Max and told him I had feelings for him.”

Maggie covered her mouth with her hand as her eyes widened, as though she had just scored the hottest piece of gossip from the PTA president. “And?”

“ _And_ what?”

_“And_ …how does this end in you two _not_ going to the wedding together? I’ll question your method a bit, sure, but it’s obvious to _anyone_ that you two are crazy about each other.”

Zoey gulped her sip of water, eyeing her mother skeptically. “Um…why w-would you say that?” The hopefully nonchalant question came out slightly awkward and shaky, not at all achieving Zoey’s desired tone.

“Because when you two look at each other, you do so as though you’re the only two people in the room.” Silence lingered a bit too long before Maggie added, “did something happen beyond you calling him?”

“…I sort of knew how _he_ felt about _me_ …for a while. And that came out yesterday, and…he’s upset I didn’t talk to him about it sooner.” Zoey omitted any mention of heart songs, and musical powers, and botched MRI appointments, knowing it’d sound much too unbelievable and ridiculous. 

“Ah,” Maggie nodded her head slightly, a hint of a smile forming on the edges of her mouth.

“I just can’t _think_ about being in a relationship with him, Mom. With everything that’s going on with Dad, and how we just don’t —” she swallowed, breaking her words for a moment — “we just don’t _know_. How can I take…this _leap_ with Max, not knowing that everything will be okay?”

“Well,” Maggie pressed her lips together in thought, “I wish I could tell you that you’d know everything would be okay, whether your father was ill, whether we found ourselves holding it together the best we can right now. But truthfully, and I think you know this…no one can tell you that.” She tucked a bit of red hair behind Zoey’s ear before continuing, “I can’t tell you what to do. You will figure that out on your own. The only thing I can tell you is that…life can be risky. Sometimes choices are presented to us and they are uncomfortable, and difficult grapple with, especially in the middle of everything else we have going on in our lives, but we have to recognize when the _good_ that comes with taking a risk makes it worth it.”

* * *

Maggie’s words repeated in Zoey’s brain like one of her heart songs for the remainder of the weekend. Max was still MIA, and Zoey was tempted to add on to the list of unanswered texts, but each time she revisited their thread, she stopped herself. Max knew Zoey was ready to talk; she said it outright in the body her her message, and all she could do now was continue to wait. If anything, the experience allowed her to brush up on her coping strategies — distraction seemed to be working for her. She binged watched a few episodes of _Seinfeld_ with Maggie and Mitch on Saturday night, she watched a few basic makeup tutorials on Sunday morning in an effort to brush up her skills in time for the wedding, she phoned a friend.

“Nothing yet?” Mo asked into the camera of his cell phone.

“Nothing. Not even the ellipsis to show he’s typing. I know he read it, he leaves his read receipts on.”

“Come over. We can finish watching your movie, if you’re up for that. And if not, I can show you the outfit I’m putting together for Saturday.”

Zoey walked across the hallway to Mo’s and engaged in both activities — first, Mo proudly displayed the deep blue sequin gown and silver heels tucked away in his closet, among the other outfits, matching in boldness and brightness. Then, they heated up a bag of microwave popcorn and continued watching _Pitch Perfect 2_ from Friday evening’s stopping point. Zoey found herself losing focus, thoughts trickling back towards Max, thoughts of what the following morning would bring, thoughts of what the near _future_ would bring. By the time Rebel Wilson began serenading Adam Devine in a canoe, Zoey felt her heart fall into the pit of her stomach.

“Is it bad to say this scene hits too close to home?” Zoey asked Mo, tossing a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

Mo turned his head to face Zoey’s. “What, you’re going to surprise serenade Max, now? No shade against Pat Benatar, but I feel like you could choose a better song.”

“I am _not_ surprise serenading anybody,” Zoey replied firmly, “I just…I wish life played out like it did in movies. I wish the only singing I heard was _not_ all in my head. Literally.”

“I know. But like it or not, your powers are trying to teach you something. Every time you hear someone sing, you are being told get involved and try to help that person. And to be honest, Max is the only person you _haven’t_ helped, despite him singing to you multiple times.”

“That’s not true,” Zoey argued, “I set him up with —”

“Autumn. And while that was a temporary fix for you both, that wasn’t the ultimate resolution. You can’t put a band-aid on someone and hope that cures what requires major surgery. Because girl, that boy is lovesick for you.”

“And I am for him too, apparently.”

Mo took a sharp inhale as his eyes widened. “What!? So you finally admit it! You are _crazy_ about that boy!”

It was that moment Zoey realized she didn’t inform Mo of the drunk-dial, and she sighed heavily, knowing she was now obliged to tell the tale.

“I’ll get the wine,” Zoey got up from her spot and meandered into Mo’s kitchen. Reaching for the glasses, she heard Mo’s elated shrills coming from the living room.

* * *

Making her way back to her apartment, Zoey glanced at her phone — 11:01. She’d be kicking herself tomorrow morning — it was a mistake to spend the _entire night_ at Mo’s place. They ended up ordering in sushi and discussing the drunk dial, theories of what Zoey might have said in her voicemail, and Max’s latest heart song. Three hours and four glasses of wine later, Zoey knew the responsible thing was to call it a night — well, maybe it _would_ have been more responsible if she called it a night two hours earlier and stopped drinking after her first glass. It was unordinary for her to be acting this way, but these were unordinary times.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face — the two measures, Zoey decided, to prove she wasn’t _that_ drunk, and hopefully would not wake up tomorrow with a blaring hangover. She settled into bed with a glass of water resting on her bedside table, double-checking her phone to ensure her alarm was set for tomorrow morning.

A chime went off, and she saw Max’s name appear over the top banner of her phone. Her stomach dropped. She swiped to view the messages.

**Max Richman (11:20 PM)  
** Hey, I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you yet. The truth is I needed some space.]

**Max Richman (11:22 PM)  
** I didn’t mean to ignore you, but I wasn’t in the right mindset to reply to you yesterday. I needed some time to think about everything, and I think I need more time. So tomorrow, if I’m not hanging around your desk like I usually do, or asking you what your lunch plans are, it’s not because I don’t care about you or don’t want to be your friend. I just need time. And I’ll let you know when I’m ready to talk again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the celebration of Simon and Jessica's love, Zoey is forced to confront her own — for Max.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took it upon myself to write the wedding we're not getting but the one we deserved. This is the last chapter to my lil story and I hope you like it!
> 
> Inspo for Zoey’s new and improved dress: https://www.lulus.com/products/hometown-girl-navy-blue-lace-skater-dress/558282.html
> 
> I appreciate you reading and taking the time to offer feedback. Your words mean so much, and I'd love to hear your thoughts this time around!

“Oh, no. No, no, no. You are _not_ allowed to walk into that wedding looking like Tinkerbell got busy with my grandma’s tablecloth.” Mo shook his head as he eyed Zoey’s attire from head to toe. The two agreed to cook dinner together to help Zoey distract from the lack of daily communication from Max. Once the dinner was cooked and dishes were clean, Mo insisted Zoey model her outfit for Saturday night, but was, to Zoey’s dismay, horrified. Zoey initially settled on a sage green sheath dress with a chunky lace overlay. It was simple and pretty — or at least Zoey thought so, up until a moment ago.

Her lips curved downwards into a frown. “Ouch,” she replied, “I wore this to Emily’s wedding shower and people really liked it.”

“That’s because people are _polite_. Too polite to tell you that you look you’re wearing scraps of a 1970’s window curtain.”

“Curtain or tablecloth? You know, they’re made up of two very different fabrics and designs —”

“Say no more. We are taking you shopping. Good lord, I’m not sure how _anyone_ in your life got dressed in the morning before they met _me._ ”

It was approaching six o’clock on Thursday evening, and Zoey was reluctantly headed towards the mall on Market Street in search of what Mo deemed a wedding-worthy dress. Zoey’s least favorite activity was to go clothes shopping, mostly because she was a woman of simple tastes: collared blouses, high-waisted pants, comfortable shoes. She wore what worked for her and hadn’t changed much of her look since college. Special occasions were different, of course, but Zoey was still a bit of a one-trick pony when it came to her formalwear: modest hemlines and basic patterns. Zoey knew what she liked and rarely deviated from her preferences.

The two began browsing in a department store, navigating racks of cocktail dresses ranging in size, shape, color, and material. “Remember, Zoey, you’re _allowed_ to wear something that doesn’t include a turtleneck,” Mo teased.

“Very funny,” Zoey retorted, rolling her eyes, “I don’t even know why I agreed to let you take me here. My dress was perfectly fine.”

“Perfectly fine to toss into a dumpster fire,” Mo stopped his search and looked Zoey in the face. “Do you not realize that this wedding is supposed to be _your moment_?”

“…Um, I thought It was supposed to be Simon and Jessica’s moment.”

“So? That doesn’t negate Max showing up to this wedding, too, and you two are going to be reuniting at an extravagant party like Gatsby and Daisy.”

“Okay, there are so many misrepresentations in that analogy, I’m not sure where to begin.”

Mo flipped his hand away, almost as if he was physically deflecting the comment. “Hush, Zoey. You can’t deny you’ve thought a _little_ bit about what it will be like to reconnect with Max at this wedding. You said he’s been avoiding you like the plague this week, right? Well, Saturday night is the only time he can’t turn on his heels. If you don’t walk into that reception looking like a million bucks, well,” Mo sucked his teeth, shaking his head, “that’s shame on you.”

For what felt like the twentieth time that week, Zoey held her tongue as she realized Mo’s comments were painfully accurate. Max had been essentially ghosting Zoey during the better part of the week; with the exception of a cordial “good morning,” and “take care, have a good night,” Max hadn’t been going out of his way to communicate with Zoey. Even within his daily work, Zoey noticed him limiting contact, instead, asking questions to Tobin or Leif rather than his primary supervisor. She could feel himself glancing at him for a little too long when she sat at her desk in the morning and saw him walking through open floor plan. She offered him kind, if not longing, eyes, when she saw him lower the spherical door to his isolation pod, but mostly, Zoey noticed she hadn’t heard Max sing. And if she was being honest, it puzzled the _crap_ out of her.

Last week, Max had nearly burst into the fourth floor with a gaggle of backup dancers and singers, sharing a heart song that spoke to the romance he wanted the two to share. This week, it felt like Max had built up an immunity to Zoey’s ability to hear his soul. If Zoey was Supergirl, Max was a block of lead — not as deadly as Kryptonite, not her ultimate weakness, but definitely impervious to her x-ray vision. The only thing Zoey could gather from Max’s apparent silence was that he felt _nothing_ — he wasn’t heartbroken, he wasn’t angry, he wasn’t infatuated — he was absent of a heart song because he had nothing left to emote. And grappling with that, Zoey found, was increasingly difficult. And grappling with _that_ idea in itself, Zoey judged herself, because what kind of friend got _annoyed_ that she _couldn’t read her best friend’s mind_?

“Zoey,” Mo’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, as he picked a dress from its place on the rack, “this one might work. High neckline, cute hem, and _this_ —” he spun the dress around to show Zoey the back of it — “is how you do lace.”

Zoey had to admit, the dress was nice. It was navy blue with a skater skirt and high, halter neckline. Two panels of sheer lace accented the back, along with a small gold button closure at the base of the neck. It was certainly tasteful, but also modern and fun. If her reflection in the fitting room mirror wasn’t enough to sell her on it, Mo’s reaction certainly was.

“Oh,” he pressed a hand to his heart as Zoey stepped out into the aisle. Zoey smiled, feeling confident. “Do you like it?”

“You look like a movie star,” Mo replied sweetly, and Zoey breathed a sigh of relief that his compliment was indeed just a compliment, and not incredibly backhanded. She half-expected Mo to call her a low-budget Emma Stone.

“Thanks,” Zoey replied kindly, “I’m surprised I actually like it so much. You have surprisingly good taste.” At the comment, Mo’s pleased expression turned to one of disbelief.

“Are you really _that_ surprised?”

Within an hour’s time, Zoey was back in her apartment, hanging the new dress in her closet. Mo also roped Zoey into buying new footwear — they compromised on strappy nude shoes with an open toe and block heel, appeasing Mo’s fashion-forward demands, while also considering Zoey’s reluctance to walk around in stilettos. It was shortly after eight, and now seemed like as good a time as any to begin getting ready for bed. Perhaps the extra sleep wouldhelp soothe her psyche. 

Zoey’s hair and teeth were brushed; she pulled on an oversized t-shirt and nestled into bed with her Kindle before her phone chimed on her bedside table. Her stomach twisted when the name displayed at the top of her screen, and she scrolled to reveal the message.

**Max Richman (8:14 PM)  
** Hey, are you free now?

Zoey bit her lip. What was she supposed to say? What did _Max_ want to say? Did he want to come over? Was she supposed to wait before responding to avoid looking needy? She didn’t want to make it seem as though she’d been staring at her phone all night, waiting for his message (although with the exception of dinner and impromptu dress shopping, that was sort of _exactly_ what Zoey was doing).

**Zoey Clarke (8:16 PM)  
** Yeah, I am. Is everything okay?

Almost immediately after sending her reply, her ringtone sounded and a photo of Max, along with his name, presented itself on her screen. She slid her finger across it to take the call.

“Hello?” Zoey asked, her voice meeker than she intended.

“Hey, Zoey, how are you doing?” Max’s voice sounded oddly calm, almost as though he was back to his typical, best-friend self. Zoey wondered for a fleeting moment if this phone call would be their reconciliation, and they’d go to lunch tomorrow as was their typical Friday ritual, and they’d meet at her parents’ on Saturday before celebrating Simon and Jessica’s first hours as a married couple.

“I’m okay, hanging in,” Zoey replied, hoping she didn’t sound too desperate. “How are you doing, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, listen…” his voice trailed off sadly, and it was then Zoey realized her hopes for a truce were only hopes, and wouldn’t be reality. “I think we should go separately to Simon and Jessica’s on Saturday. I know we agreed to go together, but I’d feel more comfortable if we went on our own, and met up there.”

There was too long a pause between Max’s request and Zoey’s response; she realized Max wouldn’t add on and ask her if “that was okay with her,” because it was a boundary he was setting for himself, and for another moment, Zoey wished she could have Max’s unwavering confidence in the fact of discomfort and conflict.

“Yeah! Sure,” she replied too enthusiastically, “whatever you want…I just want you to be comfortable, Max. Anything you want.”

“Okay, cool,” Zoey could sense the relief in Max’s tone and she felt her own reassurance in that he _wasn’t_ entirely cool and collected. The rift in their friendship was affecting him just as much as it did her, no matter his efforts to conceal it. “All right, so, I’ll see you tomorrow, Zoey.”

“See you tomorrow, Max,” Zoey echoed, lowering the phone from her ear and ending the call.

* * *

Maggie had to deliver the bouquets to the wedding venue on Saturday afternoon, which left Zoey with Mitch and Howie at the Clarke residence. She opted to get ready at her parents’ house in an effort to spend more time with her family and see him off before she left for the evening. Mo and Eddie would pick her up around four, seeing as the ceremony started an hour later.

Zoey was not a makeup artist, nor was she ever awarded at any beauty pageants, but she felt confident with her reflection staring back at her in the bathroom mirror. She managed to curl her hair and pull it back into an elegant ponytail, revealing the lace paneling on the back of her dress. Her eyes were dusted in gunmetal and gray powders instead of her typical champagne eyeshadow, lined and lashes coated with black mascara that allowed for a dramatic, yet not overpowering look. Nude pink lipstick brightened Zoey’s features along with a nude blush and slight cheek highlight. It was definitely more makeup than she wore on an ordinary day, but today was no ordinary day. 

She headed downstairs, feeling a little lame — this was the big reveal that happened in all the movies, right? The nerdy girl slow-motion walked into the room, the leading man realized once she traded her mom jeans for a skirt that she was _beautiful all along_ , and then shared the first of many kisses in their uncharted future together. Zoey rolled her eyes at the thought, _relieved_ that the only men waiting for her downstairs were father figures, and that the leading man in her life — Max, if he’d let her — thought she was beautiful the entire damn time, mom jeans and all.

“Mitch,” Howie called, once Zoey meandered into the kitchen, “you’re not going to believe this, but Emma Stone is in your house this very minute, and if you’re lucky she might just give you her autograph!”

Zoey laughed, taking a chocolate milkshake and straw from Howie’s grasp. “Thank you,” she replied earnestly, “to be honest, I don’t even fully recognize myself.”

She walked into the living room where Mitch sat in front of the television, still getting used to walking in heels — even chunky heels were a learning curve for a woman who lived exclusively in athleisure sneakers — and took a seat next to him.

“Hi, Dad. How do I look?” Zoey set the milkshake on the tray in front of him, but her father wasn’t the least bit concerned with it. She tried to pretend she didn’t see the glimmer of tears in his eyes, but knew it was far too impossible to do so. He was offering her the same look he gave to the rewatch of David and Emily’s wedding video, except this was much more _real_. 

“Please don’t cry, Dad,” Zoey said, knowing full well it wouldn’t stop Mitch — or herself — from crying. She wiped a tear from his eye and it broke her heart to know her father couldn’t do a simple act such as that on his own. A wail escaped his lips, and Zoey did everything in her might to blink back her own tears as she shared in this moment with her father. She didn’t want it to, but it felt like something of a goodbye.

When trumpets sounded in the Clarke’s living room, Zoey didn’t question it, though she was thoroughly stunned when she saw her father stand up and begin singing. She really _shouldn’t_ be at this point, she had seen Mitch sing multiple heart songs — but it was a sight she found herself not entirely used to. She knew the song instantly; a jazzy rendition of “The Way You Look Tonight.”

The upbeat tune caused Zoey to smile and laugh, and she blinked away a few more tears — a mix of sadness and elation that Zoey couldn’t quite figure out as Mitch stood up and pulled Zoey into a dance. She was careful not to step on her father’s feet while they twirled around the living room, and when the song ended, the bittersweetness of the moment spread to her heart. Zoey supposed she would never get used to seeing Mitch Clarke nearly immobile and speechless, but she would never stop loving him. 

She gave Mitch a kiss on the cheek and stood back up. “Mo is here to pick me up, but I’ll come visit you tomorrow, okay? I love you.” 

* * *

“Psst,” Mo nudged Zoey with his elbow after sipping from a glass of white wine, “Rich boy is now entering the cocktail hour.”

“What?” Zoey spun around and locked eyes with an _extremely_ dapper best friend. Or at least she _thought_ it was her best friend. He was donned in a steel blue suit with a navy tie, and Zoey realized they _did_ sort of match in color, much like prom dates. He was alone, Zoey noticed, and mentally chided herself. _Of course he’s alone, dummy. It’s not like he could have replaced you with another date in less than twenty-four hours. You’re being paranoid._

“Hot damn,” Mo whispered under his breath, “if I wasn’t already snatched up, I just might go over and hit on your boy.”

“He’s not my boy,” Zoey responded through gritted teeth without taking her focus from Max. She couldn’t be entirely sure, but she thought she saw a semblance of a smile on his face. She raised one hand in what she thought was a wave, but realized a moment too late she probably appeared awkward. 

“He could be, if you’d go over and say something.” Mo was always quick with the comeback.

Could she? This was the first time all night Zoey set eyes on Max; she hadn’t seen him during the ceremony, and found it painfully difficult to _not_ look for him, while guests filled the chairs on either side of the aisle. Try as she might, Zoey continued wondering about his presence during the procession, light piano playing in the background. She wondered about him during the exchanging of vows, she wondered about him while Simon and Jessica shared their first kiss as husband and wife. Now, seeing Max from across the cocktail room, Zoey continued to wonder where he sat during the ceremony, and if he saw her, and if _he_ had been wondering similar questions about her.

So much wondering, and thinking, and overthinking. Zoey just about had it.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Mo nudged her again, this time, pointing out a just-married Simon and Jessica. They were _glowing_ , with smiles from ear to ear, albeit looking a bit stressed. The pair usually seemed calm and collected, but Zoey suspected it grew uncomfortable being under the spotlight for such a big event. When the moment was clear, Zoey, Mo, and Eddie approached them with congratulations, offering hugs and cheek-kisses and kind smiles.

“You look beautiful,” Jessica pulled Zoey into for a hug.

“Me!?” Zoey said, thoroughly stunned, “you, _you_ look like a literal princess! And it’s _your_ wedding day!” Jessica was glamorous on a typical day, but today she was even more gorgeous. Up close, Zoey could see the lace pattern on the top half of Jessica’s trumpet gown. The bottom was tulle, cut into asymmetrical layers that made Jessica look like a runway model.Her long brown hair was pulled into a braided updo with loose curls framing the front of her face. But Zoey suspected the truest part of her beauty came from holding Simon’s hand and stealing glances as they greeted guests in the cocktail room.

“Thank you,” Jessica beamed, lifting her bouquet into view, “and please thank your mother again for putting together such lovely arrangements. She knew exactly what I was looking for and I barely had to say anything at all. Did you know lavender roses represent love at first sight?”

“I had no clue,” Zoey smiled, “but nothing could be better fitting for you both. Congratulations.”

Simon and Jessica excused themselves to mingle with Jessica’s family, Simon promising Zoey a dance before they departed. She smiled, content with her ability to acknowledge that whatever attraction she had felt for Simon was no longer present. She could poorly dance with him at his wedding to a pop song and it wouldn’t mean anything. Yet she could do the same exact dance with Max, and it would mean everything.

* * *

“Put your hands together for the main attraction, newly married husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Simon Haynes!”

Roaring applause sounded from the guests when Simon and Jessica came through the doors, dancing their way into the reception hall. The space was enormous — and needed to be, considering a good two-thirds of the guests were made up of Simon and Jessica’s enormous families. It was the perfect blend of rustic and elegant; tea lights and mason jars filled with light pink roses were placed at the center of each table. Glass doors to a perfectly decorated terrace were opposite Zoey’s table, offering a clear view of the scenic greenery outside. Everything about the evening was magical, except for the knot in Zoey’s stomach that seemed to grow whenever she caught a glimpse of Max. The assigned seating meant he was placed right next to her, and she _knew_ he had caught her looking at him once or twice during the couple’s first dance.

The song could not have been a better choice; a cover of “Lovesong” by Adele played through the loud speakers as guests watched Simon and Jessica sway to the music. The arrangement was soulful and sexy — Zoey averted her stare at points, fearing she was intruding on a private moment between the two. Her attention was brought back when the sight of Simon and Jessica singing caught her eye. She couldn’t tell if this was a performance for everyone, but the immense feeling and bold movements behind Simon and Jessica’s voices suggested this was indeed a heart song. Simon spun her across the floor; they held each other close, and for most of the performance, Zoey smiled slightly and reveled in the love she was witnessing between two people who had grown to be her friends.

Then she heard Max join in.

Paleness swept across Zoey’s features as she turned to face Max. He crooned the lyrics with a wistfulness that made her heart both soar and sink all at once. He was not looking at Jessica or Simon, but at _her_. She swallowed. This was the song she was waiting for all week. Mo’s words rang in her ear as a reminder: despite Max musically sharing his deepest, rawest feelings, Zoey hadn’t fully helped him yet.

More couples joined in on the floor, matching Simon and Jessica’s coupled choreography. Partners were twirled, dipped, kisses were exchanged, and Zoey asked herself if Max would eventually invite her to dance. She was witnessing the tail end of the performance, but it felt so real, so true to the moment before her. Couples were scattered among the wood floor, and Zoey felt a pang of disappointment in her chest when she realized Max wouldn’t make a move after all.

She was still staring at him, which she realized once Max offered her a puzzled glance. “Are you good?” He asked her casually.

“Y-yes, of course,” she stammered, “just…taking in the moment.”

“Do you want to…talk outside for a minute?” Max asked, tilting his head in the direction of the terrace doors. At this point, the floor was filled with couples, including Mo and Eddie. Zoey knew if she and Max took a quick pause to exit the room, it would likely go unnoticed.

“Sure,” she agreed, feeling a sense of elation. It wasn’t a dance, it was a conversation. It could end in a multitude of ways, and it was Zoey’s naiveté that hoped it would end with a kiss and a declaration of love, but she’d settle for an agreement to resume a normal friendship. 

The terrace was dotted with a couple of comfortable benches and chairs. Stings of fairy lights twinkled from above, stretching across the space like a illuminated canopy. Zoey’s stomach twisted when she took in the romance of the setting before them. _Of course it’s romantic, Zoey. It’s a_ wedding. _Get it together!_

“I’m really sorry, Max —” Zoey began, but was immediately interrupted.

“No, let me, please.” Max turned to face her, and from the glow of the fairy lights above them, Zoey could see something pressing behind his eyes. Something sweet. Something urgent.

“All week, I’ve been grappling with everything you’ve told me. The voicemail you left, the confession you shared about your…powers, everything. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, Zoey, it’s a lot to take in.”

“I know,” Zoey breathed, taking a seat on a wooden bench. Her hands fell into her lap as she pondered the outcome of this conversation. It was starting to sound like a rejection.

“You have to know, I _am_ sorry for everything,” she repeated, their stares meeting as Max occupied the seat next to her, “I got these powers and had no idea how to navigate them, what _do_ with them, and by the time I _sort of_ figured it out, I didn’t know how to tell you any of it. Mo and my dad are the only two people who know about them, besides you. I’ve still never told my mom, or David and Emily, or Simon, or Howie —”

“I understand,” Max replied calmly, “and I have to admit I understand why you kept it to yourself. It sounds like a really unbelievable thing. I think what hurt the most was that you weren’t honest with me about _knowing_ how I felt about you. And it took you getting drunk with your friends in L.A. to be honest with me about your own feelings.”

“Hey, you can’t put that on me. You never told me how you felt, and I didn’t even really know how I felt until —”

“Do you really want to go there? I’m trying to talk out our situation so we arrive on the other side of it, Zoey. I wasn’t honest with you because I was worried that taking a leap might have jeopardized our friendship. And I just wasn’t ready to tell you.”

“Yeah, well, I _was_ honest with you, even if it took one…or two…or six shots to get me there. And I guess I sort of ruined our friendship. So there, I’m the one who made an ass out of herself confessing my…feelings for you.”

“You didn’t ruin our friendship,” Max took hold of Zoey’s manicured hands in his own. “We have been through a _lot_ of shit together, and I don’t think it gets crazier than your best friend telling you she has a secret superpower, but that doesn’t mean our friendship is ruined.”

Zoey’s heart started to race at the sensation of Max’s physical touch. She glanced down at their loose grasp. “That’s good,” she said lightly, slowly lifting her eyes to meet his. They held each other’s gaze for a moment too long, trying to make out the thoughts of the other person. Zoey focused on the curvature of Max’s lips, and how if a force of nature just pushed her ever so slightly to her right, they’d be touching.

She cleared her throat. “In the spirit of…being honest with you, and not hiding my powers from you, I should tell you…I heard you sing tonight.” She turned her body away from him, facing forward, readying herself to make an escape. So she could be honest, but she didn’t have to hang out and linger in the aftermath of Max telling her he couldn’t be in a relationship with her because he was too hurt to focus on one, right?

“You did?” Max’s voice was clearly curious as he leaned forward, trying to catch Zoey’s eyes.

“I did. You were singing along with Simon and Jessica while _they_ sang along to their wedding song. Funny, right? The feelings that weddings bring up.” Zoey stood up from her place on the bench and started walking towards the terrace door before Max’s grasp lightly pulled her back. She turned her head to face him, fearful she’d meet his gaze, but instead she was faced with the top of Max’s head. Her heartbeat quickened with the rising tension.

“Max,” she croaked his name, finally feeling the emotion building to a point of probable tears, “please. I know you sang it, but if you’re going to tel me we should just be friends, I don’t think I’m ready to —”

Max stood up on his feet, keeping his hand on hers. “I’m in love with you, Zoey,” he said out loud, interrupting her. It was the first time Max said It to her without her hearing it through a song playing in her head. “You already have to know that, right? If you heard me sing to you?”

Zoey’s cheeks flushed as she tilted her head up towards him. “M-Max, these songs can be so complicated, and even if you feel something, that doesn’t mean people always act on their feelings. That’s the whole point of this power, right? To see people’s feelings, right at their core, and how sometimes, they don’t always — can’t always — match their actions?”

“Yes, well…I’m telling you, Zoey, what my feelings are, right at their core. I am in love with you, and I’ve probably been in love with you since I first met you.”

If words caused flight, Zoey would be soaring above the the fairy lights and into the stars. She felt heat tingle in her cheeks as she searched Max’s loving gaze, completely dumbfounded, and blissful, and in love. A small smile formed upon her lips as she reveled the moment.

“Max, I —”

Three, swift taps interrupted Zoey’s focus. From the other side of the glass door stood Mo, anxiously gesturing with his hands as though to push something together. Even from feet away, Zoey could see the impatience in his glance, and it took everything within her to not start laughing.

“I think that’s my cue to stop talking,” she said.

Zoey took a small step forward, closing the narrow gap between them, between their bodies, between their lips. She thought she heard muted clapping coming from over the party inside, but she couldn’t be sure. The only thing that existed was the glow of the night surrounding them and the kiss and _Max_.

“I love you, too,” she echoed quietly through a smile, before Max could steal another kiss.

Zoey heard the door open this time, and Mo’s voice sounded over the music spilling out into the terrace. 

“Fi-na- _ly_!” He enunciated the word, clapping his hand with each syllable. “It was _excruciating_ watching you two get together tonight, but the payoff is sweet! Now, carry on.” And as quickly as he interjected the moment, Mo disappeared back into the crowd inside.

This time, Zoey couldn’t hold back her laughter, and Max joined in, cupping her cheek in his hand before kissing her again. And she felt as though the embarrassing voice mail, disputes, the space between them — it was all worth it. Maybe now, Max’s heart songs would fall silent. But a new song — their song — was one Zoey had yet to learn. And she couldn’t wait to hear it.


End file.
